THE  MUSIC 


I 


m*m 

1 


HENRY  VAN  DYKE 


m 

:l! 


i! 


" 


Irtt  .NlVhRSITY  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  J  CALIFORNIA,  SAN  DIEGi 

LA  JOLLA,  CALIFORNIA 


LIBRARY 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


COPYRIGHT    1907    MOFFAT,     YARD    &    CO..     N.     Y. 


From  a  painting  by  Sigismond  de  Ivanowski 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


THE 

MUSIC -LOVER 


BY 


HENRY  VAN  DYKE 


With   Frontispiece  by 
SIGISMOND  DE  IVANOWSKI 


NEW  YORK 

MOFFAT.  YARD  &  COMPANY 
1908 


Copyright.  1907.  by 

MOFFAT.  YARD  &  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


PubliAed  September.  1907 

All  Rights  Reserved 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


THE  Lover  of  Music  had 
come  to  his  favorite  seat.     It 
was  in  the  front  row  of  the 
balcony,  just  where  the  curve 
reaches  its  outermost  point,  and,  like  a 
rounded  headland,  meets  the  unbroken 
flow  of  the  long-rolling,  invisible  waves 
of  rhythmical  sound. 

The  value  of  that  chosen  place  did 
not  seem  to  be  known  to  the  world, 
else  there  would  have  been  a  higher 
price  demanded  for  the  privilege  of 
occupying  it.  People  were  willing  to 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


pay  far  more  to  get  into  the  boxes,  or 
even  to  have  a  chair  reserved  on  the 
crowded  level  of  the  parquet. 

But  the  Lover  of  Music  cared  little 
for  fashion,  and  had  long  ago  ceased 
to  reckon  the  worth  of  things  by  the 
prices  asked  for  them  in  the  market. 
He  knew  that  his  coign  of  vantage,  by 
some  secret  confluence  of  architectural 
lines,  gave  him  the  very  best  of  the  de- 
light of  hearing  that  the  vast  hall  con* 
tained.  It  was  for  that  delight  that  he 
thirsting,  and  he  surrendered  him- 
to  it  confidently  and  entirely. 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


He  had  arrived  at  an  oasis  in  the 
day.  Since  morning  he  had  been  toil- 
ing through  the  Sahara  of  the  city's 
noise:  arid,  senseless,  inhospitable 
noise:  roaring  of  wheels,  clanging  of 
bells,  shrieking  of  whistles,  clatter  of 
machinery,  squawking  of  horns,  rau- 
cous and  strident  voices:  confused, 
bewildering,  exhausting  noise,  a  deso- 
late and  unfriendly  desert  for  the  ear. 

Now  all  that  waste,  howling  wilder- 
ness was  shut  out  by  the  massive  walls 
of  the  concert-hall,  and  he  found  him- 
self in  a  haven  of  refuge. 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


But  silence  alone  would  not  have 
healed  and  restored  his  spirit.  It 
needed  something  more  than  the  ab- 
sence of  harsh  and  brutal  and  mean- 
ingless noise  to  satisfy  him ;  it  needed 
the  presence  of  melody  and  harmony : 
tones  measured,  ordered  and  re- 
strained; varied  and  blended  not  by 
chance,  but  by  feeling  and  reason; 
sound  expressive  of  the  secret  life  and 
the  rhythmical  emotion  of  the  human 
heart.  And  this  he  found  flowing  all 
around  him,  entering  deeply  into  him, 
filling  all  the  parched  and  empty 
channels  of  his  being,  as  he  listened  to 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


Beethoven's   great  Symphony  fa  C 
Minor. 

There  was  nothing  between  him 
and  the  orchestra.  He  looked  over 
the  railing  of  the  gallery,  which  shaded 
his  eyes  from  the  lights  above  the 
boxes,  straight  across  the  gulf  in  which 
the  mass  of  the  audience,  diminutive 
and  indistinguishable,  seemed  to  be 
submerged,  to  the  brilliant  island  of 
the  stage. 

The  figure  of  the  conductor,  dressed 
in  black,  stood  in  the  center;  silent, 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


impassive,  firm,  eloquent  in  his  tranquil 
poise.  With  slight  motions,  easy  and 
graceful  as  if  they  came  without  thought 
and  required  no  effort,  his  right  hand, 
with  the  little  baton,  gave  the  time  and 
rhythm,  commanding  swift  obedience ; 
while  his  left  hand  lightly  beckoned 
here  and  there  with  magical  persuasion, 
drawing  forth  louder  or  softer  notes, 
stirring  the  groups  of  instruments  to 
passionate  expression,  or  hushing  them 
to  delicate  and  ethereal  strains. 

There  was  no  labour,  no  dramatic 
display  in  that  leadership ;  nothing  to 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


distract  the  attention,  or  to  break  the 
spell  of  the  music.  All  the  toil  of  art, 
the  consideration  of  effects,  the  sharp 
and  vehement  assertion  of  authority, 
lay  behind  him  in  the  rehearsals. 

Now  the  finished  work,  the  noble 
interpretation  of  the  composer's  musical 
idea,  flowed  forth  at  the  leader's  touch, 
as  if  each  motive  and  phrase,  each 
period  and  melody,  were  waiting  some- 
where in  the  air  to  reveal  itself  at  his 
slight  signal.  And  through  all  the 
movement  of  the  Allegro  con  brio, 
with  its  momentous  struggle  between 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


Fate  and  the  human  soul,  the  orchestra 
answered  to  the  master's  will  as  if  it 
were  a  single  instrument. 

And  so,  for  a  time,  it  seemed  to  the 
Lover  of  Music  as  he  looked  down  upon 
it  from  his  lofty  place.  With  what  pre- 
cision the  bows  of  the  violins  moved  up 
and  down  together;  how  accurately 
the  wood-winds  came  in  with  their 
gentler  notes;  how  regularly  the  bra- 
zen keys  of  the  trumpets  rose  and  fell, 
and  the  long,  shining  tubes  of  the  trom- 
bone slid  out  and  in.  Such  varied 
motions,  yet  all  so  limited,  so  orderly, 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


so  certain  and  obedient,  looked  like  the 
sure  interplay  of  the  parts  of  a  wonder- 
ful machine. 

He  watched  them  as  if  in  a  dream, 
fascinated  by  their  regularity,  their  sim- 
plicity in  detail,  their  complexity  in  the 
mass — watched  them  with  his  eyes, 
while  his  heart  was  carried  along  with 
the  flood  of  music.  More  and  more 
the  impression  of  a  marvelous  unity,  a 
mechanical  certainty  of  action,  grew 
upon  that  half  of  his  mind  which  was 
occupied  with  sight,  and  gave  him  a 
singular  satisfaction  and  comfort. 


7  'IMP* 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


It  was  good  to  be  free,  for  a  little 
while  at  least,  from  the  everlasting  per- 
sonal equation,  the  perplexing  interest 
in  human  individuals,  the  mysterious 
and  disturbing  sympathies  awakened 
by  contact  with  other  lives,  and  to  give 
one's  self  to  the  pure  enjoyment  of  an 
impersonal  work  of  art,  rendered  by 
the  greatest  of  instruments. 

But  presently  the  Allegro  came  to 
an  end,  and  with  the  pause  there  came 
that  brief  stir  in  the  orchestra,  that 
momentary  relaxation  of  nerves  and 
muscles,  that  moving  and  turning  of 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


many  heads  in  different  directions,  that 
swift  interchange  of  looks  and  smiles 
and  whispered  words  between  the 
players,  which  seemed  like  the  tem- 
porary dissolving  of  the  spell  that  made 
them  one.  And  with  this  general  but 
separated  and  uncertain  movement  a 
vague  thought,  an  unformulated  ques- 
tion, passed  into  the  mind  of  the 
Lover  of  Music. 


— x 


How  would  the  leader  reassemble 
the  parts  of  his  instrument,  in  a  few 
seconds,  and  make  them  one  again, 
and  resume  his  control  over  it  ?  How 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


would  he  make  the  pipes  and  strings 
and  tubes  and  drums  answer  to  his 
touch,  though  he  laid  no  hand  upon 
them?  There  must  be  some  strange, 
invisible  keyboard,  some  secret  system 
of  communication  between  him  and 
those  various  contrivances  of  wood  and 
wire  and  sheep-skin  and  horse-hair 
and  metal  (so  curiously  and  grotesquely 
fashioned,  when  one  came  to  con- 
sider them),  out  of  which  he  was  to 
bring  melody  and  harmony.  How 
should  one  conceive  of  this  mys- 
terious key-board  and  its  hidden 
connections  ? 


I'^V*' 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


How  should  one  comprehend  and  im- 
agine it  ?  Was  it  not,  after  all,  the 
most  wonderful  thing  about  the  great 
instrument  on  'which  the  symphony 
was  played  ? 

While  the  Lover  of  Music,  leaning 
back  in  his  seat,  was  idly  turning  over 
this  thought,  the  Andante  began,  and 
all  definite  questioning  and  reasoning 
were  absorbed  in  the  calm,  satisfying 
melody  which  flowed  from  the  violas 
and  'cellos. 

But  now  a  singular  change  came 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


over  the  half-conscious  impression 
which  his  eyes  received  as  they  rested 
on  the  orchestra.  It  was  no  longer  a 
huge  and  strangely  fashioned  instru- 
ment, intricate  in  construction,  perfect 
in  adjustment,  that  he  was  watching. 

It  was  a  company  of  human  beings, 
trained  and  disciplined  to  common  ac- 
tion, understanding  one  another  through 
the  sharing  of  a  certain  technical  knowl- 
edge, and  bound  together  by  a  unity  of 
will  which  was  expressed  in  their  cen- 
tral obedience  to  the  leader.  The 
arms,  the  hands,  the  lips  of  these  hun- 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


dred  persons  were  weaving  together 
the  many-coloured  garment  of  music, 
because  their  minds  knew  the  pattern, 
and  their  wills  worked  together  in  the 
design. 

Here  was  the  wonderful  hidden  sys- 
tem of  communication,  more  magical 
than  any  mechanism,  just  because  it 
was  less  perfect,  just  because  it  left 
room,  along  each  separate  channel, 
for  the  coming  in  of  those  slight,  incal- 
culable elements  of  personal  emotion 
which  lend  the  touch  of  life  to  rhythm 
and  tone. 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


The  instruments  were  but  the  tools. 
The  composer  was  the  master-designer. 
The  leader  and  his  orchestra  were  the 
weavers  of  the  rich  robe  of  sound,  in 
which  alone  the  hidden  Spirit  of  Music, 
daughter  of  Psyche  and  Amor,  be- 
comes perceptible  to  mortal  sense. 
The  smooth  and  harmonious  action  of 
the  players  seemed  to  lend  a  new 
charm,  delicate  and  indefinable,  to  the 
development  of  the  clear  and  heart- 
strengthening  theme  with  its  subtle 
variations  and  its  powerful,  emphatic 
close,  like  the  fullness  of  meaning  in  the 
last  line  of  a  noble  sonnet. 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


In  the  pause  that  followed,  the 
Lover  of  Music  let  himself  drift  quietly 
with  the  thoughts  of  peace  and  concord 
awakened  by  this  loveliest  of  andantes. 
The  beginning  of  the  Scherzo  found 
him,  somehow  or  other,  in  a  new  re- 
lation to  the  visible  image  of  the 
orchestra.  The  weird,  almost  super- 
natural music,  murmured  at  first  by 
the  'cellos  and  double-basses,  then  pro- 
claimed by  the  horns  as  if  by  the  trum- 
pet of  Fate  itself;  the  repetition  of  the 
same  struggle  of  emotions  which  had 
marked  the  first  movement,  but  now 
more  tense,  more  passionate,  more 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


7mm 


human,  the  strange,  fantastic  mingling 
of  comedy  and  tragedy  in  the  Trio  and 
the  Fugue  with  its  abrupt  questions  and 
answers ;  all  this  seemed  to  him  like  a 
moving  picture  of  the  inner  life  of  man. 

And  while  he  followed  it,  the  other 
half  of  his  mind  was  watching  the 
players,  no  longer  as  a  group,  a  unit 
of  disciplined  action,  but  as  individuals, 
persons  for  each  of  whom  life  had  a 
distinct  colour,  and  tone,  and  meaning. 

His  eyes  rested  unconsciously  on  the 
pale,  dreamy  face  of  the  second  violin- 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


ist;  the  black,  rugged  brows  of  the 
trumpeter:  the  long,  gentle  counte- 
nance of  the  flute-player  with  its  flex- 
ible lips  and  blond  beard. 

The  grizzled  head  of  the  'cellist 
bent  over  his  instrument  with  an  air 
of  quiet  devotion;  the  burly  form 
of  the  player  of  the  double-bassoon, 
behind  his  rare  and  awkward  instru- 
ment, waiting  for  his  time  to  come  in, 
had  the  look  of  a  man  who  could 
not  be  surprised  or  troubled  by 
anything;  one  of  the  bass-violinists 
had  the  rough-hewn  figure  and  the 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


divinely  chiseled,  sorrow-lighted  face 
of  Lincoln,  the  others  were  children  of 
the  everyday;  the  clarionettist,  with 
his  dark  beard  and  high  temples,  might 
have  sat  for  Rembrandt's  picture  of 
'The  Philosopher";  and  the  rotund 
kettle-drummer,  with  his  smooth  head 
and  sparkling  eyes,  restlessly  turning 
his  little  keys  and  bending  down  to 
listen  to  the  tuning  of  his  grotesque 
music-pots,  seemed  impatient  for  the 
part  in  the  score  when  he  was  to  build 
the  magical  bridge,  on  which  the  sym- 
phony passes,  without  a  break,  from 
the  third  to  the  last  movement. 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


"All  these  persons,"  said  the  inner 
voice  of  the  Lover  of  Music  (he  listen- 
ing all  the  while  to  the  entangling  and 
unfolding,  dismissing  and  recalling  of 
the  various  motives) — "  all  these  per- 
sons have  their  own  lives  and  charac- 
ters. They  have  known  joys  and 
sorrows,  failures  and  successes.  They 
have  hoped  and  feared.  All  that 
Beethoven  poured  into  this  music  from 
his  experience  of  poverty,  of  conflict 
with  physical  weakness  and  the  cruel 
limitations  of  Fate,  of  baffled  desire,  of 
loneliness,  of  strong  resolution,  of  im- 
mortal courage  and  faith,  these  players 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


in   their   measure   and  degree  have 
known. 

"  Even  now  they  may  be  in  love,  in 
hatred,  in  friendship,  in  jealousy,  in 
gloom,  in  resignation,  in  courage,  or 
in  happiness.  What  strange  paths  lie 
behind  them ;  what  laughter  and  what 
tears  have  they  shared ;  what  secret  ties 
unite  them,  one  with  another,  and  what 
hidden  barriers  rise  between  those 
who  do  not  understand  and  those  who 
do  not  care !  There  are  many  stories 
running  along  underneath  this  music, 
some  of  them  just  begun,  some  long 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


since  ended,  some  never  to  find  a  true 
completion :  little  stories  of  many  lands, 
humorous  and  pathetic,  droll  and  ca- 
pricious legends,  merry  jests,  vivid  ro- 
mances, serious  tales  of  patience  and 
devotion. 

"And  out  of  these  stories,  because 
they  are  human,  has  come  the  humanity 
of  the  players :  the  thing  which  makes 
it  possible  for  them  to  feel  this  music, 
and  to  play  it,  not  as  a  machine  would 
play,  grinding  it  out  with  dead  mo- 
notony, but  with  all  the  colour  and 
passion  of  life  itself. 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


'Why  should  we  not  know  some- 
thing of  this  hidden  background  of 
the  orchestra?  Why  should  not 
somebody  tell  one  of  the  stories  that 
is  waiting  here  ?  Not  you,  but  some 
one  familiar  with  this  region,  who 
has  trodden  its  paths  and  shared  in  its 
labours;  not  a  mere  lover  of  music, 
but  a  musician." 

Here  the  inner  voice  which  had 
been  running  along  through  the 
Scherzo  and  the  Trio  and  the  Re- 
capitulation, died  away  quietly  with 
the  pianissimo  passage  in  which  the 


I 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


double-basses  and  the  drum  carry  one 
through  the  very  heart  of  mystery ;  and 
the  Lover  of  Music  found  himself  in- 
tensely waiting  for  the  great  Finale. 
Now  it  comes,  long-expected,  surpris- 
ing, victorious,  sweeping  all  the  instru- 
ments into  its  mighty  current,  pausing 
for  a  moment  to  take  up  the  most 
delicate  and  mysterious  melody  of  the 
Scherzo  (changed  as  if  by  magic  into 
something  new  and  strange),  and  then 
moving  on  again,  with  hurrying,  swell- 
ing tide,  until  it  breaks  in  the  swift-roll- 
ing, thunderous  billows  of  immeasurable 
jubilation. 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


The  Lover  of  Music  drew  a  long 
breath.  He  sat  motionless  in  his  seat. 
The  storm  of  applause  did  not  disturb 
him.  He  did  not  notice  that  the  au- 
dience had  risen.  He  was  looking  at 
the  orchestra,  already  beginning  to  melt 
away ;  but  he  did  not  really  see  them. 

Presently  a  cane  was  stretched  out 
from  the  second  row  behind  him,  and 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  He 
turned  around  and  saw  the  face  of  his 
friend  the  Dreamer,  the  Brushwood 
Boy,  with  his  bright  eyes  and  di- 
sheveled hair.  And  beside  him  was 


THE  MUSIC-LOVER 


the  radiant  presence  of  the  Girl  Who 
Understood. 

"Lieber  Meister, "  said  the  Boy, 
"  you  are  coming  now  with  us.  There 
is  a  bite  and  a  sup,  and  a  pipe  and  an 
open  fire,  waiting  for  you  in  our  room. 
Bitte 


THERNREGJ   NALLBRARYFACLTY 


